


lupus dei

by strangelysweet



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Akechi Goro Being an Asshole, Alternate Universe - Vampire Slayer, Author is not Christian, Blood Drinking, Blood and Injury, Churches & Cathedrals, Implied Sexual Content, Improper Use of a Rosary, Loss of Faith, M/M, Religious Content, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Tension, Sexy Death Threats, Touch-Starved Kurusu Akira, Vampires, like it's been half a year, pls don't be mad at me but i completely forgot about this lmfao, used to be but now i'm sad and gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:14:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26054761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangelysweet/pseuds/strangelysweet
Summary: “Isn’t she beautiful?”“I’m not sure. I don’t see the appeal.” He says, nonchalantly crossing his legs over each other. The fabric is tight against his skin, and Akira’s eyes fixate a moment too long on the curve of his thigh.He looks back at the Virgin Mary, turning his rosary in his hands again. “There is something breathtaking about her sadness. Almost as if she’s trapped.”“Is she?” The hunter says, his eyes trained on Akira. He meets them reluctantly, and feels a wave of shame wash over his body as he realizes how close he’s leaned to the other boy’s body.“Trapped?” Akira echoes, shifting away. Goro nods. The dark-haired boy turns to the stained glass window again, watching the rain fall like tears down Mary’s face. “I like to think so."-----Akira, the ward of the Abbot of an empty chapel, lets a hunter take refuge during storm. Of course, you never know what the Devil can drag in unless you open the door.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira
Comments: 4
Kudos: 100





	1. Chapter 1

The doors of the abbey swing on their hinges, the storm raking through the halls like an angry bull. A cloaked figure stands at the gates, the rain pelting against their cloak like iron nails into wood. Akira sees them from the window, the rosary clasped in his hands swinging like a pendulum. The figure pushes the gates aside as if they’re nothing, and Akira feels his heart stutter in his chest. He’s been trained to host a hunter, but there hasn’t been one since he was a child. He swallows, then pulls his own cloak from the hook on the wall. The winds buffet him as he ventures into the courtyard, the bells ringing from the gale. The hunter meets him in the middle, his mouth set in a grim line.

“May I request sanctuary? I trust you were notified of my arrival.” He asks, and Akira is taken aback by how smooth his voice is. 

He nods, holding his cloak tightly. “There is room, but I cannot say I was expecting you.”

The hunter makes a dismissive noise and strides past Akira, and only then does he notice the blood dripping from the cloak into the puddles. It slides through the cracks in the cobblestone, and the smell of iron hits him in the face with a gust of wind. The hunter doesn’t utter a word, nor does he make any noise indicating he is injured. Akira follows him, his boots splashing against the rainwater. 

“Where have you come from?” He asks, hanging his cloak on the wall. The hunter pulls his hood down, almost reluctantly, then shoots him a cold look.

He has a handsome face, with elegant features one wouldn’t expect from a trained killer. His almond-colored hair hangs around his face in long strands escaping a messy ponytail. Akira’s breath catches in his throat when the hunter’s eyes fix onto his own. Under the stained glass, they look blood red. As the lightning strikes, they seem to glow. 

“I fail to understand how that is any of your business.” He states, his voice level and cold. Akira frowns. 

His fingers trail over his rosary out of habit, his fingertips sliding over the beads. “I am offering you shelter from this storm. It would be wise of you to use a kinder tone of voice with me,” He pauses. “ _Sir_.” 

The hunter doesn’t let any emotions pass his face for a moment, but he cracks a wry smirk, his eyes narrowing in thought. “You don’t strike me as a priest. Who are you?” 

Akira bristles. “As a matter of fact, I’m the Abbot's ward.”

“His ward, hm?” He muses, and the lightning strikes again, thunder following like a hound at its heels. “You don’t look a day over eighteen, and yet you stay under his roof.” 

“I’m seventeen. The house of God doesn’t belong to anyone but Him. I have found my place here, and so I shall stay.” Akira says defensively, raising an eyebrow at the unfaithfulness of the stranger.

“God is _dead_ , boy.” The hunter hisses. He seems the same age as Akira, if not older, but he seems to hold knowledge behind his eyes. They gleam like pomegranate seeds as he strides into the chapel. His boots click against the slate, and he tosses his cloak onto a pew. Underneath the heavy furs he was wearing, a dark, cotton shirt hangs on his lean frame. A leather belt holds pouches and compartments, and a silver knife glints at his hip. A greatsword clanks against the mahogany of the pew, strapped to the fur cloak. 

Akira follows him, trying to ignore the way the wind claws at the stained-glass windows. The saints stare down at their backs, their pallid faces streaked with rain. The hunter frowns as Akira speaks. “Are you not a paladin for the Light? Surely, you must know that God gave you the equipment to protect his creations.” 

“Didn’t your God also create those creatures? The vampires, the lycanthropes?” The hunter argues. Akira wrinkles his nose in disdain.

“Did you fall asleep during your classes? Those are creations of the _Devil_. All slayers must take those courses in order to gain their-“ 

He grins again, his teeth glinting like the silver of his sword in the dim candlelight. “Their Sun Pendants?” 

A golden sun symbol hangs from his belt, the brightest thing on his person. The hunter scoffs at Akira’s face, then sits on the back of a pew, his boots resting on the woven pew cushion. Akira’s mouth snaps shut. 

“God, you’re rather insufferable, aren’t you?” He gripes, watching the hunter wrap the drawstrings of his shirt around his index finger.

He looks up, his eyelashes sweeping against his cheeks like angels’ feathers. “What’s your name, boy?” 

“Akira.” Akira answers, and almost kicks himself for being so obedient. “What’s yours? And you can’t be much older than I am, so stop calling me ‘boy’.” 

His legs cross, one over the other, and the hunter leans back, surveying Akira with an amused stare. “Goro Akechi. You’d be surprised, though. I’m older than I look.” 

Rain hurls itself against the stained glass, and the lightning sparks behind the clouds like fire flaring up. The shadows it casts through the windows tremble as the windows rattle, passing over the epitaphs and plaques mounted on the chapel wall. Goro’s smile is soft and sharp at the same time. 

“Sit. You look pale.” He remarks, the demand as gentle as the wolf who dons cotton to hide amongst the sheep. 

Akira complies, nonetheless. His instincts are screaming at him to stay away, but he can’t quite hear them. They’re submerged in milky water, their sound muffled under the slow, languid spell the hammering rain is casting. Under the folds of Goro’s billowing shirt, a small pouch sits, tied with golden string. 

“What do you keep in there?” Akira asks, perching gingerly on the pew next to him. 

The hunter looks down at the pouch, then a grim smile stretches across his face. “Teeth. When you stake a vampire, the bones remain. I keep the teeth as trophies.”

Akira swallows. “Oh. That’s not what I expected.” 

“I’m full of surprises.” The hunter says, but there isn’t a smile behind his words. His fingers drum on the back of the pew, and Akira can see the callouses on his hands. Small scars dot his fingers like joined-up constellations, pale like the raindrops falling behind the glass face of Saint Mary behind them. 

Goro looks over his shoulder at the woman, examining the way her eyes droop low in sadness. Akira sighs as he looks at her, then turns to Goro. “Isn’t she beautiful?” 

“I’m not sure. I don’t see the appeal.” He says, nonchalantly crossing his legs over each other. The fabric is tight against his skin, and Akira’s eyes fixate a moment too long on the curve of his thigh. 

He looks back at the Virgin Mary, turning his rosary in his hands again. “There is something breathtaking about her sadness. Almost as if she’s trapped.” 

“Is she?” The hunter says, his eyes trained on Akira. He meets them reluctantly, and feels a wave of shame wash over his body as he realizes how close he’s leaned to the other boy’s body. 

“Trapped?” Akira echoes, shifting away. Goro nods. The dark-haired boy turns to the stained glass window again, watching the rain fall like tears down Mary’s face. “I like to think so. It can’t be easy being the mother of God. Being cooped up in a church all day, nothing to do but pray and listen to the choir.”

Goro doesn’t speak, he only watches Akira’s hands trail over the beads of his rosary. Thunder shakes the golden cups beneath the silk at the altar, a few drops of wine spilling onto the dusty cloth. The hunter sighs, looking out of the window. 

“The rain isn’t letting up. At this rate, I may have to stay the night.” He trails off, muttering something about a trail going cold by morning. Akira was far too distracted at the thought of where the boy would sleep. 

If he asks politely, he could get Futaba to move into the vestry and bring extra blankets with her. Even then, her bed is far too small for Goro’s long limbs. Akira can’t fit in there either, and he isn’t sure how Goro would take to being shoved into the vestry for the night. 

“You’d have to take my room, if that suits you,” Akira mutters, getting to his feet. 

Goro raises an eyebrow, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. “Where will you sleep tonight, Akira?” 

Akira gestures vaguely to the vestry. The hunter’s mouth settles into a frown that resides quite comfortably on his face. Akira wonders how his face changes when he smiles, or when he sighs. 

Akira grips the rosary so hard, the cross digs into his palm. The metal is cold against his hand, like icy fire in how it almost burns. He almost misses the sentence the hunter throws haphazardly into the fray of his emotions. 

“Shame. The nights are rather cold in such an empty shell of a building like this one.” He drawls, and Akira’s face heats up in indignation and embarrassment. 

He furrows his brow, his tone stern. “This building is not empty. As I’ve told you before, you should watch your tongue. I am in a position where I could throw you into the rain. You have no right to exert your faithlessness over me.”

Suddenly, the hunter has him by the front of the shirt, bending him backward over the back of a pew. Akira’s hands fly to grasp at Goro’s, his heart jumping into his throat. Goro leans close, his face lingering close to his neck as he hisses in Akira’s ear. “Are you in the very same position now, church boy?” 

Akira’s breath catches in his throat, and he watches the lightning spill through the clouds, the light flashing against the beams of the roof. The slayer’s grip gentle enough to leave Akira unharmed, but he can tell that he’s holding back. 

“I am, Goro” He whispers defiantly. 

A beat of silence between them lets the rain’s deafening voice whistle through the abbey. Goro lets go of Akira’s shirt and leans back. His eyes unfocus for a moment, and he has to steady himself against the pew. Akira falls backward, awkwardly splayed across the pew cushion. With nothing but his dignity harmed, he rises to his feet. 

“So I _can_ expect you tonight?” Goro grins like a jackal, but as far as Akira can tell, his words are empty.

“God’s great aching tooth, Goro, you say such forward, crass things.”

Akira huffs at him, then busies himself by checking that all of the prayer candles are lit. 

He strikes a match against the sandpaper of its box, and the flame hisses to life. Under the watchful flame of the candles, Akira’s hands grow warm, and he looks up to the depicted saints. Their glass gazes are fixed on the pews. Their unseeing eyes are on the hunter who watches Akira like a wolf watches a lamb. Amusement and pity, with something else Akira can’t quite place. The wind smashes against the glass, and he jumps. The candle slips out of his hands, shattering on the stone floor. Akira sweeps the glass into his hands, and yelps as it slashes his palm. 

“Fuck,” He mutters. The hunter lets out an amused laugh. 

His red eyes glint as the lightning flashes, and he speaks like a lilting hymn. “Aren’t you quite the heathen? First using your Lord’s name in vain, and now cursing in His church.”

Nursing his palm close to his chest, Akira sends Goro a sharp look over his shoulder. The wind rattles the windows so violently, they blow open. The rain scatters along the stone, and Akira squints as the wind gushes past him. He barely hears the sharp inhale behind him as he slams the windows shut, the blood from his hand sliding down into his sleeve. The dark-haired boy sighs, frowning at the candles. All of them are smoking but put out. Akira wipes the excess blood from his palm and lights the match again. 

As the candles flare back to life, Akira’s reflection makes itself apparent in the glass cups that catch the melting wax. As the cut on his hand throbs, he studies the reflection, finding nothing behind him. He turns his head, ready to look for wherever the hunter wandered off to. 

Goro looms over him, his chest a breadth away from Akira’s back. The dark-haired boy’s heart stutters, and he can’t help but stare into the redness of Goro’s eyes. They glint like rubies, and his breath is warm on the nape of Akira’s neck. 

“Goro?” He squeaks, his heart beating like a jackrabbit dashing away from the fox. 

The hunter leans over him like a willow tree, his garnet eyes unfocused. His hand gently threads though Akira’s dark curls, and for a moment, he wishes Goro could continue. He leans into the touch, then remembers himself, flinching away. The sharp movement seems to snap him out of a trance, and he swiftly steps backward, his face pale. His hands clench and unclench as if he's trying to find out what to do with them. Without another word, he grasps a handful of his cloak, then takes his sword in his right hand, striding out of the chapel. 

Akira watches him stop, then sling his cloak over his shoulder, turning on his heel. Goro walks up to him, then takes Akira's hand in his. His skin is deathly cold as he brings his hand up to his mouth. Looking him in the eye, he blows the match out, just before it burns Akira's fingertips. 

Without another word, he leaves. 

It's another hour before Akira sees him again, haphazardly sitting in the windowsill of the Lady Chapel. The statue of the Virgin Mary stands at the front of the room, her stone hands cupping the melted wax of the candles. The warm light flickers over her face, but it doesn't quite reach the hunter. Akira stands in the doorway, his hand placed on the cool stone. 

"The storm is still raging. Forgive me, but isn't this the last place you'd want to be? It's practically as far away as you can get from the room you'll be staying in." He speaks clearly, hoping his voice doesn't shake. The juvenile anxiety that plays in the cavities between his ribs flutters, like the spluttering candles in the statue's hands. 

He prays that he can get over this ridiculous feeling and put his head over his heart. It's doubtful that he's spent enough time with the slayer to even have his heart involved, but he has no time to think of that now. 

"Remind me of where you shall be staying tonight?" Goro lilts, spinning a silver coin over his knuckles. 

Akira raises an eyebrow. "I pray that I need not remind you that this is a church?"

"This is as much of a church as it is a castle," Goro smirks. The dark-haired boy frowns. 

"You're correct. If this were consecrated ground, you'd burn from the soles of your shoes upward." He retorts. 

The hunter wry grin widens, and a flash of ferocity lingers beneath his playful demeanor. "Are you implying that I'm a sinner, church boy?" 

"Perhaps I am." Akira crosses his arms over his chest, trying his best to draw attention from the redness of his face. 

Goro uncrosses his legs, then hops down onto the stone floor, the heels of his leather boots clicking loudly. "Perhaps you forget I am a blessed warrior?"

Akira has to bite back a smile, battling his want to laugh at the slayer's jokes. He keeps a cold, straight face and steadies his stance. "A blessed warrior would know what God thinks of heretics. You are still welcome to the herd of sheep, Goro, the shepherd is always welcoming."

A bitter, icy look passes over Goro's face, and his hands clench. The wind batters the windows behind him with enough precision to rattle the iron hinges. Akira watches as Goro stalks towards the statue of Mary, then slowly places his pale hand over the candles in her hands. They extinguish, and he peels the dried wax from his palm. 

"The herd can easily be infiltrated if the wolf wears wool." He mutters, and the air around Akira turns cold. 

Lightning hangs low in the sky, and the deafening clap of thunder makes him jump. When he looks up, Goro in inches away from him again, his scarlet-hued eyes smoldering brightly. 

"Be careful of who you let close to you. The human body is delicate." Goro's voice is almost low enough to be a growl. " _Agnus dei_." 

Akira takes a shaky breath. "You are full of contradictions."

"Not everything is as simple as light and dark. You should know that." His smile is wolfish and challenging, and Akira wants to shy away. He doesn't.

"How so?" He retorts, trying to hide the fact that the words strike a dissonant chord in his chest. He understands exactly what Goro is talking about, but isn't sure how he knows.

Goro doesn't give him the satisfaction. "You comprehend me perfectly, don't you, church boy?" He looks up, stepping past him swiftly. "Now, would you care to direct me to my quarters for tonight?" 

Against his better judgment, he shows Goro to his room, then retires to the wooden bench in the vestry, tugging the white sheets with him. Staring up at the trees' shadows on the ceiling, Akira feels uneasy, as if an unwelcome presence lingers like incense in the halls of the chapel. Sleep overcomes worry, and the dark-haired boy slowly falls into the silence of sleep.

A raven screams in the dusk, and two pinpricks of sanguine light loom over Akira in the inky blackness. A hand is over his mouth, cold as ice and firm as marble. The beast leans down, teeth ghosting over his neck like a kiss of metal. Akira can feel his heart flutter like a moth in a spider's web, feeble and terrified. A low growl resounds close to his jugular vein, and somehow, the creature's icy touch feels gentle. He clutches at the sheets, pinned to the hard surface of the bench like a taxidermied insect. 

In the gloom, Akira can almost make out the features of its face. His gasp gets stuck in his throat. He had only read about these creatures before, and the very thought of them shook him enough to keep the gas lamp on when he slept for a month. Above him, skin glinting like pearls in the moonlight, sits a vampire, jaws open and teeth bared. Part of him wishes to see the monster's face, but he knows the danger that comes with deadly beauty. 

He struggles under its cast-iron grip, but to no avail: The monster holds him down like a lion pins the antelope to the dust. Part of him is begging his voice to scream out for help, the other is morbidly fascinated by the being above him, with their somehow gentle hand on the side of his face. The moon creeps out from behind her cloak of clouds and reaches into the vestry, and the creature's face is revealed. 

"You!" Akira breathes, confused and panicked. 

The hunter looks down at him with a disdainful look in his eyes, tracing a finger around his cheekbone. 

"You should have been more careful, Agnus dei." He mutters, baring his teeth. "I warned you the wolf wears wool in the presence of sheep." 

Akira's eyelashes flutter as the world spins around him, his hands grasping blindly at Goro's hand, trying to pull himself up. A firm shove sends his back forcefully into the tangled sheets on the wooden bench, and the slayer leans down, studying Akira's face. 

"Why?" The dark-haired boy asks, "How?" 

Goro grins with a melancholy air, baring his teeth. "I was told to fight fire with fire. I am both dark and light, in your book. There is no such thing, however, in the real world. Good people die, and the bad ones don't when they're supposed to." 

Akira swallows a whimper. "You mean to tell me you killed the hunter and have been masquerading as him?" 

"No. I am what killed the hunter, and the hunter himself." Goro hisses. 

A flash of silver from the pearly white sheets brings Akira out of his trance. If this being was truly a vampire, then the rosary by his hand would burn them. Akira's hand creeps up to snatch the rosary up, then presses it to the exposed skin of the vampire's collarbone. 

He waits for the sizzle of burning flesh to come, but nothing happens. Goro grins down at him, slowly winding the rosary up around his index finger. He wraps the chain of beads around Akira's wrist and tugs upwards, uncovering the skin of his forearm. 

The pain of having fangs sink into one's arm is less excruciating than Akira imagines. The shock of seeing the blood escape the puncture wounds is more damaging. His heart thuds in his chest like a bird beating its wings around a cage, desperate to escape. The almost-vampire drinks hungrily, then draws back, the blood glinting on his lips. 

"You have no clue how much you tempted me, church boy." He murmurs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Goro drops the makeshift cuff and chuckles lightly. "And by the looks of it, you weren't exactly subtle either." 

Akira's face heats up in indignation, but there is nothing he can say to deny it. In the very house of God, he did look for too long, think about how the hunter's hands would feel in his own, and he feels strangely calm about it. Maybe it's the blood loss. 

He feels the fangs trace his throat like poised daggers, and a hand encompasses his wrist. "May I?" 

Akira draws in a shaky breath and musters all of the courage he has. "You're not a very good vampire if you must ask." 

The hunter scoffs. "Would you prefer if I didn't?" 

"No," Akira admits, and a shiver runs down his spine as his teeth graze a sensitive part of his neck. "However, I would prefer not to die tonight." 

"You won't die, Agnus dei, hunter's honor." Goro growls, then sinks his teeth into his jugular vein.

When Akira wakes again, he is staring at a different ceiling. The surface beneath him is not hard, but soft. He sits up, then immediately regrets it. The dizziness renders him blind for a few moments, and he raises a hand to his temple. In the dark corner of the room, a shadow sits. Akira's blood freezes as he remembers the discovery he made. 

Goro looks at him from the shadows, a melancholy look on his handsome face. "You have risen. Good." 


	2. Chapter 2

The retreating storm leaves a devasted churchyard in its wake. Leaves are strewn across the grass like wings torn from moths, branches sever headstones into fragments scattered amongst the dirt, and a single candle is alight in a window facing the aftermath. It is still part of the darkest hours of the night. There are no stars, no shred of the sky behind the tallow moon, only inky, grey night. 

"I thoroughly apologize that you had to see me like that, Akira. Hunger does things to one's body that you would not believe." Goro states, the frenzy-induced red having left his eyes. 

Akira sits on his bed, staring at the way the hunter's fangs glint in the moonlight streaming through the window pane. His wrist is adorned with two pinpricks of dried blood and delicate bruising, and his neck wears the bite mark like a necklace, the mottled burgundy color of the wound is morbidly beautiful in a way Goro cannot explain. He is as pale as a specter, staring vacantly at his silhouette. 

"Are you," He starts, "Or are you not, a paladin for the light?" 

Goro sighs. "I have taken a holy oath, yes, therefore I am a hunter. I am also of the 'Devil's handiwork,' as you said before."

Akira gulps, his heart hammering in his chest. "How?"

He rolls his eyes, sinking lower into his chair. Letting out a quiet snarl, he glowers at Akira, drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair. "Experimental training. If you ask any more questions, and I might have to rip that pretty little throat of yours _out_."

Akira gulps. His hand flutters to his chest, and he looks to the floor, his face coloring in shame. Even though he's calmed himself down, Goro can still hear the shuddering heartbeats from his chest. The smell of his blood is intoxicatingly sweet, almost tugging him out of the chair. The storm swells behind the windows, and his fingers dig into the arm of the chair. The wood splinters underneath his hands and he feels his knuckles crack. His teeth itch, begging to drag themselves across flesh and _bite_. Goro shuts his eyes, clenching his jaw and picturing the sun pendant in his mind.

His father once said, "There is nothing in a man if there is no decorum." 

Goro hates the phrase and hates the man, but it quietens the lust for blood on his tongue. His eyes open. Akira is still sitting on the bed, his white undershirt glowing like snow in the gloom. The collar sits delicately on his frame, splayed open on his collarbone. The skin is bruised the color of sacramental wine where Goro bit him, scented sweet like jasmine. 

"Are you..." Akira trails off, his eyes flicking down to the hunter's mouth. Goro snaps it shut. Instinctively, he had been running his tongue over the tips of his fangs. 

"Yes?" 

The boy lowers his eyes. "Are you still hungry?" 

He laughs darkly, ruby eyes glimmering in the darkness. " _Ravenous_. Are you frightened?"

He tentatively shakes his head, and his shoulders relax from where they were raised to his ears. "No." 

"Fool." Goro hisses, standing up. Slowly, like a wolf stalking its prey, he stands up, trailing his hand along the windowsill as he walks over to the side of the bed. 

Akira doesn't make a sound, but the sheets crinkle underneath his clenching hands. Goro pulls something out from the folds of his coat and opens his palm to Akira. The rosary lies there, the polished wooden beads gleaming like beetles, the silver cross clicking against the rest of the chain. 

"This belongs to you. It is useless, but if it can comfort you, I see no reason to take it from you." He mutters, pulling his collar up and draping a scarf around his neck. 

Akira turns, stumbling out of bed. "Wait, you're not leaving, are you? The storm-"

"The storm is over, church boy. Go to sleep and forget this ever happened." Goro growls, turning on his heel and grasping Akira's wrist before he can tug on his coat. 

The dark-haired boy bites his lip, and the white shirt slips off of one shoulder, pooling around the crook of his elbow. Goro swallows, pressing his tongue against the roof of his mouth. His gaze falls to the marks on his neck, and the overwhelmingly sweet scent of his blood washes over him again, and it takes all of his effort to stop himself from bleeding him dry. 

"Goro, please. It is my duty to provide you with shelter. If I'm honest with you, I... Well, I would like you to stay." He averts his eyes. 

Goro's lips curl into a snarl. "Are you daft? You _want_ me to stay? I could kill you and enjoy it, church boy, and you want me to stay here with you? What on earth could be going through your mind that could make you want me to be in the same room as you?" 

Akira grabs him by the shirt, shakes him roughly, and glares up at him. "There is nothing for me here! I am alone, save for one recluse up in the bell tower, and I am constantly questioning whether or not I am worthy of my faith. You are the only thing in my life that isn't constant, and even though you'll leave, I want the change to stay as long as possible."

"I am not in your life, Akira. I never was, and I never will be. I refuse to put you in danger." He hisses, prising the boy's fingers from his shirt. "I am leaving." 

Indignantly, Akira stares up at him, his dark eyes a strange mixture of sorrowful and angered. "You are the only person who hasn't treated me with pity. And I cannot let you leave without you knowing that." 

"Well, I know now." He retorts. And yet, against his will, he is unmoving. "I don't treat you with pity because you could leave at any time. You have brought this on yourself."

"Don't say that!" Akira yells, "Don't you _dare_ say that. I have nothing outside of this church. Out there, I am nothing but some sinner with a broken faith. You are the only person I've met who isn't ashamed of who they are." 

Goro laughs dryly, his eyes narrowing into slits. "Am I not ashamed? What would _you_ know of shame? You have grown up in a safe haven from all the world's scourges. I was made into a _monster_ and pitted against the like. You know nothing of being an outcast until you've been forced to tread the line between human and abomination."

The rosary falls from Akira's hands, hitting the floor with a hollow clink. Angry tears well in his eyes, and the shadows cast on the wall are darker than the night sky. Goro grits his teeth, striding towards the door and turns his back on the glorified altar boy. 

"Goodbye, Akira." He says, placing a hand on the doorframe. 

"I think you're beautiful," Akira says, barely audible. "And I am afraid that I will never find someone as beautiful as you, even if I search the entire world." 

His hand falls from the doorway, and Akira doesn't move. The windows rattle with a dying wind, shaking the glass like tinny thunder. The moon hangs in the sky, stretching pale fingers into the room as it emerges from behind a cloud. Goro turns around, removing his gloves, and glances out the window. Stars gleam like pearls in a lady's jewel box, but everything is swallowed by Akira's dark eyes. They stare at him with such intensity, Goro feels as if he's falling. 

"You don't mean that," Goro mutters, unable to break away from the hold that Akira's stare has on him. 

A warm hand brushes against his fingers, soft and uncalloused. Akira, who hasn't faced off a manticore or severed the head of a werewolf, Akira, whose hands shake when he lights prayer candles in the dark, stupid, reckless Akira, who loves the teeth that bite him, holds his hand. He gently cradles Goro's hand in his, running his index finger along the scars on his knuckles. 

"I didn't think I did, either. You're an arrogant, impatient twat who lacks manners, but in the time I have known you, you have changed my world. Only _you_ could challenge the views of the Abbot's ward in his own church." Akira murmurs, his gaze fixed on the scar that winds around Goro's wrist and disappears into his sleeve. 

He watches him with perplexed fascination. "You move incredibly fast, you know." 

Akira laughs, then looks up, smiling bittersweetly. "I'm not sure how to move any other way. I've been standing still for so long."

Then, exhaling as if readying himself for rejection, Akira reaches up to Goro's face and kisses him gently. He's timid, chaste, and unsure of what to do afterward. Goro watches his eyes flutter open, an anxious expression clouding his face. 

Goro clears his throat. "You have no self-preservation instincts." 

"You have no tact." He retorts, his face flushed red. 

The draft from the window blows over them, carrying the rich scent of Akira's blood like a wave crashing down on a tempest-struck beach. Goro shudders, grabbing the dark-haired boy's wrist and clamping his jaw shut. He feels the heat of the frenzy threaten to spill over him, rolling through his body like heavy fog, and it takes all that he has to not sink his teeth into Akira's wrist. His efforts immediately go to waste, seeing as Akira raises a hand to Goro's face, looking at him with grim curiosity. 

"Goro, I'm here." He whispers, and immediately, the hunter pales. 

He suppresses a snarl, glaring down at Akira. "You don't want it. You have to let me go."

Akira shakes his head, then pulls back his sleeve. "You're suffering. I cannot let a guest suffer in the house of the Lord." 

As Akira raises his arm to Goro's mouth, the last dregs of control slip through his fingers. Ignoring the flesh Akira's bared for him, the dhampir lunges for the dark-haired boy's neck, sinking his teeth into soft skin and tender meat. The second his fangs meet his jugular vein, Akira gasps, blindly grasping for the fabric of Goro's shirt. His knees buckle, and the hunter grabs him by the waist, another hand gripping the cloth of the back of his shirt.

The taste is divine. To Goro, this is sacramental wine, sweet and delicate, never meant to be taken in large quantities. Akira's hold on his shirt is weak, trembling like a paper doll in a monsoon. Goro draws back, licking a stray pearl of blood from the corner of his mouth, and gazes down at Akira's face. A mixture of fear and shock is plain on his face. However, Goro is perplexed by the faint blush on his cheeks. Having never seen it before in any of his prey, he cocks his head to the side, tilting Akira's chin up with his hand. The toxins released from his fangs are clotting the blood on his neck. 

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Goro muses, eyes sharpening as he searches the dark-haired boy's face for an answer.

Akira sighs. "You surprised me." 

"You offered your wrist to me. Why are you surprised?" Goro hisses, his hand not moving from its place underneath Akira's chin. 

He frowns, fingers fiddling with the linen of his shirt. "You didn't drink from the wrist, though, did you?" 

As he laughs, Goro's grip tightens on Akira's jaw, coldly examining the look on the latter's face. "Showing me that you are willing doesn't make me any gentler, just like showing a wolf a steak, telling it to feed, and then being surprised when it goes for your throat."

"Or, next time, you could warn me?" He offers, his eyes trailing the wicked-looking scar that winds into Goro's collar. 

The hunter grits his teeth. "There will not be a 'next time.'" 

Much to his surprise, the church boy looks disappointed. In all of his travels, the hunter has never seen anyone so stupid. He's rescued fainting maids from the clutches of an incubus, he's slain werewolves feasting on gormless sheepherders, he's killed and maimed, and yet this boy refuses to believe Goro wants to hurt him. Akira hasn't seen the church from the hills, he hasn't seen the forest and all of its creatures, hell, he's never seen the townsfolk without their Sunday best. Naïve, stubborn, and without functioning intuition, he is everything that Goro isn't. 

"Let me come with you." He pleads, tugging on Goro's cloak. "I cannot stay here. You said so yourself, I know nothing of the outside world. Let me _learn_." 

Goro sighs, pinching his brow. "God, you are insufferable." 

"And I will continue to be so until you give me an answer!" Akira huffs. 

He weighs it over in his mind. The road is lonely, and God willing, if the boy becomes too much of a burden, Goro could eat him and be done with it. He looks down at his face, taking in the dark eyes, pursed lips, and high cheekbones. 

"Why are you so desperate to stay with me?" Goro mutters, running a hand through his hair. 

Akira smiles, and a part of it breaks his heart. "Because, despite your lack of manners and tact, I like you. You're smarter than the boorish folk who beg for the Bishop to relieve them of their sins as if he could do such a thing. Besides, I feel as if I can be myself around you." 

"May I remind you that I could, and should, drain you of your blood?" Goro says icily, baring his fangs as he talked. 

"I don't believe that you would. That Sun Pendant of yours, you don't want to tarnish it, do you?" Akira muses, sitting down on the bed and crossing one leg over the other. 

The boy is infuriating. One moment shy and innocent, with wide eyes and a sweet disposition, and then, with a wave of a hand, he's coy and wry. Frankly, it enamors Goro more than it makes him want to throttle him. Defeated, he sighs, slumping onto the bed next to Akira. "I'll leave in the morning. I cannot promise your safety on the road, and I strongly suggest that you don't join me. However, you are a being with free will, and therefore, I cannot stop you." 

Throwing his arms around the slayer's neck, Akira tackles him to the mattress, pressing a sweet kiss to his mouth. When his lips leave Goro's, he leans over him, placing a hand to the side of his face. 

"Thank you, hunter. If the Devil really did make you," He murmurs, "then I do believe that you are his finest work." 

Goro pushes him to the side, planting his hands on either side of Akira's head, pinning him to the bed. "Heresy never sounded sweeter than when it comes from your lips." 

"Full of contradictions, yet again. Why, not even a moment ago, you were calling me a fool and threatening to _kill_ me. Is that how hunters court others?" Akira muses, but his face is red. 

Goro shakes his head, laughing softly. "Hunters do not ' _court_.'"

A hand snakes up to touch the side of his face, drifting down to trail the pale sliver of a scar that snakes down below Goro's collar. Quietly, Akira kisses him again, and for all of his big talk, he lacks experience. 

"Then, what is this?" He asks, unsure and small, and Goro can see the empty halls of the church in his eyes. 

He sees how Akira prayed, begging for an answer to what he had done wrong. The hollow, cold halls of the abbey were unforgiving and vengeful. Loneliness stalked the windows like a ghost, and sin was a word Akira heard far too many times for it to possess any real meaning. In his vision, Goro can see the Abbot. A cruel, pale man with an awful, tallow face that glimmered like shifting wax in the candlelight. Sharp angles and a pin that stuck to his sash, all golden and harsh. The pin is a circle of wings, like the yoke of a puppet, pinned to the white cloth, and Goro can see the reflection of the altar in it. 

Blinking, he brings himself out of it and directs his gaze onto Akira's face. 

"What did you see?" He asks, tucking a strand of honey-colored hair behind the hunter's ear. 

Goro shakes his head, burying his nose in the crook of Akira's neck. "Nothing of interest." 

Akira gasps softly as the hunter's lips meet the sensitive skin of his neck, gentle and soft instead of the piercing fangs he was expecting. A hand grips Goro's hair, running slender fingers through the long strands. Tentatively, as if moving too quickly might spook the boy, Goro slips a hand underneath the billowing fabric of Akira's shirt, lightly tracing a circle above his heart. It beats like a drum, thrumming through his veins like an echo in the high ceilings of a choir bay. Breathless, Akira kisses him again, smiling into the corner of his mouth. 

"Thank you," He whispers, pressing his forehead to Goro's in gratitude. 

He doesn't answer, averting his eyes and choosing instead to busy his mouth with nibbling gently at Akira's collarbone. Accepting thanks has never been his strong suit, as he often opts to leave after completing a job without talking to the local village about the answer to their werewolf problem. He is certainly not going to learn with Akira. While the boy is growing on him, Goro will not give him the satisfaction of being the first to receive a "You're welcome." 

"Move your shirt." He growls instead, growing annoyed by the collar obstructing him from Akira's neck. 

When Akira laughs, it sounds like the chains of a thurible clinking down the aisle, clear and bright. It soon melts into a sigh, and the very sound of it sends shivers down Goro's spine. 

Morning light streams through the glass panes of Akira's room, the thin shadows of the bare-branched trees quivering on the floor. Goro wakes first. His arm wrapped tightly around the dark-haired boy, the warmth of his back pressing against Goro's chest, all of it is something new and unfamiliar. For a moment, he's worried that Akira is dead from how still he is, but the beating of his heart that the hunter can hear is a tell-tale sign of life. That, and the distinctly healed marks on Akira's neck. Amongst red marks and gentle bruises, the two tiny puncture wounds have immediately healed into fading scars. 

Akira stirs in his arms, turning around to bury his face in Goro's chest, mumbling in his state of semi-consciousness. "Goro? Is that you?" 

Hesitantly, his hand hovers over Akira's shoulder, as if touching him would scare him into hiding in the corner of the room. Gathering the courage to touch him, his palm meets the soft, unmarred skin of his shoulder. 

"Yes. It's me." Goro says. It feels odd on his tongue. 

Akira's eyes open sleepily, and he beams up at the hunter, a hand gently resting on his sternum. "Good morning." 

His face turns pale, and he looks to the window, placing a hand over his brow to shield his eyes from the sun. Goro frowns. "What?"

"You don't burn in the sun," Akira turns back to him, worry apparent on his face, "do you?" 

Goro snorts, pushing his hair back from his face. "God, _no_." 

Letting out a sigh of relief, Akira falls back onto the bed, the white sheets glowing around him. Goro lifts a hand to the sunlight, watching it play between his fingers. 

"See?" He murmurs. "Completely fine." 

Akira's hand creeps up his arm, entwining his fingers with the hunter's. The edges of their hands glow as if holding a candle behind their palms. A light burn scar runs down the length of Goro's palm, snaking around his wrist, a tendril of pale flesh that forever reminds him of the twice-blessed chain he held when he was first turned. An eternal reminder that he won't ever be the same blood as the church boy who lies beside him, whose delicate, uncalloused hands have only ever been used for praying before. 

As Akira's fingers gently hover against his knuckles, Goro decides that he doesn't care. For now, he's just waking up to the morning sun, with nothing to do but sleep forever, with someone who thinks that he's beautiful curled up against him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yikes this kicked my ass  
> pls excuse the wobbly characterizations lmfao it was very difficult to keep goro pinned as one type of person


End file.
